


Text Tone

by kyaorii



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chair Sex, Confession, End Of Pining, Finally, First Time, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Light Smut, M/M, Morning Sex, Sex in the living room, Sherlock Coming Out To John, Took You Long Enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11303007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyaorii/pseuds/kyaorii
Summary: Sherlock receives another message from Irene and what follows leads to an advancement in Sherlock and John's relationship.





	Text Tone

**Author's Note:**

> Just to let you know, and to prevent any confusion, this is set post S4. Everything that happened, happened, even the whole Eurus fiasco (regrettably).
> 
> Anyway, Enjoy!

Rays of sunlight from the horizon were just starting to peek through the clouds that shrouded London, seeping light into the flat. Sherlock and John had just wrapped up a case (a particularly infuriating one at that) and were sitting in silence. All that could be heard was the tap of keys on the laptop as Sherlock typed, the rustle of John's newspaper, and the whir of traffic as London awoke to start the new day.

John wasn't really supposed to be there, having Rosie to care for and all, but there was something comforting about being in 221B. Anyway, Molly was more than capable of keeping Rosie for just a little longer.

The serenity of the flat was suddenly disturbed by the familiar, yet erotic, noise that came from Sherlock's mobile. John's muscles tensed as the entire feeling of the room became more and more uncomfortable. Sherlock didn't seem phased by it at all.

John lowered his newspaper and squinted at Sherlock, who was still tapping away at the keyboard. "Was that what I think it is?" He asked, holding the newspaper firmly in his lap.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock replied, plainly, not moving from his current position.

Folding up his newspaper and flinging it onto the coffee table, John glared, "You know I bloody well heard it, Sherlock!" For all times when Sherlock could be a cock, this was not going to be one of them.

Sherlock maintained an indifferent facial expression and refused to turn to face John, and asked, "Heard what?" (It's not a game, Sherlock).

"For Christ's sake! Why in the hell haven't you- you know?" John waved his hands around in a suggestive gesture. "She's beautiful and she's clearly inter-"

Sherlock interrupted, "I have no interest in pursuing a romantic or sexual relationship with Irene Adler, John. Whether she's interested in me or not." He was now glaring back at John with his 'it's obvious' face and rolled his eyes.

John sighed, "But maybe-"

"Not. Interested," Sherlock cut in, before returning back to face his laptop, "Anyway, she's gay, you heard her say so."

"So if she wasn't...?" John said.

"I still wouldn't, but that's not the point, John," Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes heavily. How painfully obvious does he have to be?

John still didn't get it. "Sherlock," he paused, "Why on earth would you, of all people, not be interested in a woman like Irene? She's smart, that's for sure. Could give you a run for your money. Surely that's attractive to you?"

Halting his typing at the keyboard, Sherlock turned once more to face John and stared directly at him, as if he were piercing directly into his soul. Then he said, "I'm gay, John."

For a second, John thought he might be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something. Sherlock, gay? Since when? Why didn't he know about it? Anyway, didn't he date Janine and mourn Irene... who he apparently has no interest in, in light of recent events.

He needed to make sure. "I'm sorry, what?" John asked, utterly baffled by this new information.

Sherlock sighed, he disliked repeating himself, "I'm gay. I thought you might have found out by now. Clearly not." He turned yet again and resumed his tapping of the keyboard.

Despite being told directly by Sherlock, twice, that he's gay, John just couldn't seem to grasp the fact that it was the truth: everything he had done so far seemed to point towards Sherlock being straight.

"But... Janine. You and her... in the bathroom-" John questioned, doubtful of Sherlock. He had to be lying. It must be some sort of game.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I was acting," he said, "You know I used her to get into Magnussen's office."

"You shagged!"

"I was manipulating her! Have you even read those papers?!"

"How the hell did you get it up, then?!"

Sherlock turned and gazed blankly at John, like a deer caught in headlights. Clearly, 'get it up' isn't a part of his vocabulary (which is expected of a Posh Boy). "Oh," he said, realising what John meant, "You mean how did I get an erection if I'm not sexually attracted to women?"

John nodded, visibly cringing at Sherlock's use of scientific term. Saying 'hard on' or anything else would have been much better, honestly.

"I thought of someone else," Sherlock said, bluntly, turning away from John again.

"A man?" John asked.

Without seeing Sherlock's face you could tell that he rolled his eyes quite heavily, "Obviously a man, John."

The flat was almost completely silent now, apart from their quiet breathing, and the air was now filled with an uncomfortable aura, different to that which was caused by the text tone. John knew exactly what he wanted to ask, whether it was appropriate or not was another question entirely. Still, it's intriguing, finding out who makes your best friend 'aroused', especially your gorgeous, incredible best friend, who's smart and utterly captivating.

"John," Sherlock paused, shattering the silence that had engulfed the room, "Just ask what you want to ask already, I can't concentrate if your brain is thinking so loudly."

John swallowed, hard, clearing the lump out of his throat. He forced himself to ask, "W-who did you think of?" From where he was sitting, he could see Sherlock suddenly tense up at the question. John prided in himself for a second for catching the all-knowing detective off guard. Soon, he realised that it might have been a bad idea to ask at all. "Actually, forget that I asked, it's none of my business."

Mid sentence, John heard Sherlock mumble something under his breath; it was so quiet that, if he hadn't been so on edge, he might have not even heard him.

"Pardon?" John asked.

Sherlock turned to face John's direction, but avoided eye contact completely by looking at the rug on the floor. His sculptured cheeks had turned rosy pink. "I thought of you," he murmured, almost inaudibly.

"You thought of... me?"

"Yes, you," Sherlock said. He arose from his chair and made his way, slowly but surely, towards John, who was still sitting in his chair. With each step Sherlock took, the suspense heightened. What were his intentions? When he reached John, he placed both of his hands onto the armrests of the chair, framing and trapping John with his body. He kept a tight grip on the armrests to keep his face suspended mere inches away from John's face.

Sherlock then moved in closer, closer still, before moving to John's right ear. "Oh, you have no idea, John," he murmured, grazing his lower lip on John's earlobe as he spoke, "How much I have wanted you."

A shiver made its way down John's spine as he absorbed Sherlock's words. His senses were completely and utterly overwhelmed by Sherlock: his scent; the sight of his body peeking through his unbuttoned collar; the sound of his voice that seemed to resonate deep in John's body; the gentle touch of his breath against his ear. "Holy fuck, Sherlock," John breathed.

He had to grasp tightly onto the arms of the chair to keep control of his body.

Sherlock returned so that he was looking directly into John's eyes. His pupils had expanded significantly so that they now had taken up most of his irises.

"John," Sherlock murmured. He edged closer to John, gazing down at his lips and closing his eyes, and brushed his lips against John's. It was gentle and so mind-numbingly slow considering how long he's wanted this, needed this.

John needed more.

He cupped Sherlock's face in both hands and pulled him in deeper. Licking at Sherlock's lips, John requested entry so he could delve even deeper into Sherlock, feel every inch of his body. Giving permission, Sherlock parted his lips, allowing John's tongue inside.

Every crevice of that mouth tasted so god damn fine: better than he could have ever imagined.

Breathless and dazed, John moved away from Sherlock, allowing time to catch his breath. Sherlock had other intentions and straddled John. Taking John's face into his hands, Sherlock pulled him back in. The kiss was hot and wet and amazing and, in the roughness, released all of their repressed emotions that had built up since that fateful night.

They both, breathless and aroused, yearned for skin-on-skin contact, to feel the touch of another's skin against their own.

John began to hastily unbutton Sherlock's purple shirt. He practically tore the thing apart, eager to get his hands on the porcelain skin hidden beneath it.

Getting the message, Sherlock moved his hands lower and he and began to lift up John's jumper to remove it. Then, he started unbuttoning John's plaid shirt.

Having already removed Sherlock's shirt, John was now running his hands across Sherlock's back, caressing each and every scar with his fingertips. John loved the change in texture as he traced along Sherlock's skin: the smooth and matte sections of skin were easily distinguishable.

John's shirt had now been discarded on the floor and Sherlock made short work of John's belt and trouser buttons, the metal clinking as he did. Then he moved onto his own trousers. He unfastened the button, pulled down the zip and then shimmied the tight trousers down his thighs. With John's help, and a quick break in snogging, they were pushed all the way down to his ankles.

"Damn shoes," Sherlock said, breathlessly, as he tried to push his left shoe off using his right foot, "Fuck it. There's no time. This will have to do, John."

Sherlock then started to pull down John's trousers, but stopped when the waist had come down to his lower thigh. John was thankful for the release in pressure on his cock.

Looking wide-eyed and a little overwhelmed, Sherlock pulled down John's grey boxer briefs. His breath caught a little as John's dick sprung free from its confines.

John grinned.

He slid his hands down the back of Sherlock's underwear and took a tight hold of his luscious arse. The sudden touch caused Sherlock to buck forward, groaning as he did.

Then, John did Sherlock a favour by pulling his pants down too.

How they had both wanted this.

Wasting no time (it's been long enough already) Sherlock brought his arms up and around to rest on John's back. The slight contact of their cocks was electric; John's grip on Sherlock's arse tightened subconciously which brought their bodies even closer together.

Their cocks were now pressed together between their two bodies. Thrusting upwards experimentally, John rubbed his entire length along Sherlock's cock enticing a moan out of the Detective.

Fuck. If John thought the last groan was breathtaking, he should have heard that moan.

John's left hand abandoned its post on Sherlock's arse and made its way to both of their cocks. He wrapped his entire hand around their girths and began to stroke up and down, over and over again.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to come with John's name on his lips as he held tightly onto John's back, holding on for dear life as his vison was engulfed by a flash of white.

Feeling the pulse of Sherlock's cock against his own, John was pushed over the edge, and came shortly afterwards.

For about a minute, as they caught their breaths, they embraced each other. The satisfaction in finally showing true feelings after so god damn long felt bloody amazing. What they had been dancing around for years was no longer being avoided. Nobody could stop them anymore.

"Hmmmm, John," Sherlock murmured, his face buried in John's neck.

John smiled, utterly content, "Yes, love."

Sherlock tensed suddenly but then relaxed. For the second time today, John prided himself in surprising the Detective. He surprised himself, to be honest. The term of endearment just slipped past his lips in the post coital haze.

"Love, Hmmm, I like that," Sherlock smiled, nussling into John's neck even further. He felt at home in John's arms, he felt protected and comfortable and he was finally able to clear his mind and just focus on John. His John.

"I do too. Should have said it sooner," John said, his regrets coming back to him. "Should have said it years ago."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third work so please feel free to suggest improvements I could make, it would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Thank you for reading! <3


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